


heaven sends (a little death)

by resurrectdead



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Angel/Demon Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Crack, Girl Direction, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Lesbian Sex, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 16:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21430999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resurrectdead/pseuds/resurrectdead
Summary: And then, the girl opposite her smiles. She smiles, and it’s not even because of the little devil horns on her headband and the red tail stuck through her belt loop, but it’s still absolutely devilish, and Harry’s heart absolutely does backflips into outer space and back.or: harry experiences a ghastly surprise of ghoulish delights when louis, the girl she’s been looking at during the halloween party, turns out to be not just a regular girl. well, thing is, she’s not even human.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 57





	heaven sends (a little death)

Harry sees her tits first. 

It’s a very indecent first thing to notice, she knows, and reasons about it with her moral senses repeatedly as she’s stood very obviously eyeing them over while biting the brim of her red cup now emptied of cherry punch. 

They’re just very, _there_, aren’t they? And very, incredibly, artfully _beautiful_. Wrapped in a sleeveless black top with a huge rip down the middle, almost threatening to rip even more with the, well. The _size_ of them. How they press together somehow, making her cleavage perfect for stacking things like, freakin’ _coins_ or other stupid things a delirius Harry would definitely come up with, potentially just as an excuse to fondle them just a bit, because they _deserve_ it, to be cherished, loved a little bit. It seems physically impossible such a thin piece of fabric should even be able to contain them like it does, or at all, but. 

Harry tries very hard to stop staring at them. She clears her throat with an enormous pang of Lesbian Guilt. 

”Sorry?”

It’s not just because of the loud music. Her heart is kind of beating so hard in her ears she couldn’t possibly pick up on a single word of what was just spoken from the stranger in front of her. 

It’s dark in the room, people thrashing about all around them and dancing to Spice Girls and Madonna and some spooky tunes like Monster Mash or whatever else her friend Sylvia put on the playlist, and still the silhouette in front of her is crystal clear. Clear, even though she’s been wearing glasses since she was about ten, like everything has just fallen into place somehow and this is the only visual she was ever supposed to be looking at. 

And then, the girl opposite her smiles. She smiles, and it’s not even because of the little devil horns on her headband and the red tail stuck through her belt loop, but it’s still absolutely _devilish_, and Harry’s heart absolutely does backflips into outer space and back. 

Everything is shifting from pink, to purple, to red, and all Harry can see is this enchantress of a girl. Her devil horns, and her devil of a facade. 

It was almost as if, Hell was boring, so here she is. 

_And Harry’s so very painfully gay. _

”I said,” the girl repeats, voice slow, educationally so, a rasp like she could be trailing her finger up Harry’s spine with the sharp black-painted nail on her finger (more like, a _claw_), making her blush and shudder into bloom under her touch, ”could you point me to the bathroom?”

And, oh. _Oh_, just some friendly showing-of-the way. Nothing more, nothing less, even though Harry’s mind might have just wandered some _very irreligious places_ just now. 

Because this wickedly gorgeous girl looks unholy in every single delicious way, and then there’s Harry, standing awkwardly close with her white t-shirt tucked into her plaid skirt and she’s suddenly very self-conscious about her bralette-adorned, poor excuse for tits of her own, almost visible through the see-through, stretchy fabric of her shirt. 

You can’t stack coins between them. You can barely even get a handful. 

Harry wets her lips absent-mindedly. ”Right. Yeah, of course, sure.” The girl’s hair is short and feathery soft, brown in maybe an almost light chocolaty shade although Harry can’t tell with these lights. She wants to draw her hand through it. She wants to function normally and not have inappropriate, non-functional thoughts around hot girls. ”I’ll show you right to it.”

The girl smiles, not coy. Not in the slightest bit coy. She forgets she’s supposed to lead the way and just stands there feeling about as good as a puddle, that’s how _absolutely not coy_ it is. Harry decides then she’s definitely a follower and not a leader - even though this is her best friend's house and she should definitely know the path around it even in her sleep - as she starts waddling with clear uncertainty down the corridor, a warm press between her thighs, all of a sudden. 

Which is just so stupidly inappropriate. But biology had a different plan for Harry than being able to make friends like a normal human, apparently. She’ll never be worthy to make friends with such a gorgeous creature, and she’s pretty sure she’s less than human anyway, because this girl is something more than it. Something otherworldly. 

She can’t place it, can’t categorize her, because it’s something so alien that she doesn’t know the words to even begin to try. 

She swears the pilot glasses - which she’s got perched on her freckled nose, the ones with the thin, rose gold rim - are starting to fog up. 

”Are you a friend of someone here?” Harry asks, because she can do awkward small-talk, she thinks. She was fairly certain this was a party just for the last year students of her school and their good-looking friends, but she’s never seen this girl before. 

She’d know, because she wouldn’t be feeling dizzy by her presence beside her if she’d seen her before, maybe passed her by a shelf in the grocery store and slipped on thin air from seeing a girl so pretty; walked past her in the park and she’d come jogging towards her and _oh, the bouncing_...

”No,” she answers, voice in a purr like a feline. The huntress for her heart that will tear her apart with just her eyes. ”I came here for you.”

This is when Harry would slip and die if she lacked even a little bit more self control. Somehow, she doesn’t, apparently. She just hitches on her breath in shock and wrenches her head to the side with her eyes grown large as saucers. ”_Sorry?_”

That smile. That smile is what makes her so beastly. ”Nothing.” She puffs her short hair up with a delicate hand, and Harry thinks wildly that her heart might have just skipped a beat or two at the sight. Maybe she’s just dying. ”I just came here for a good time.” 

She’s a flower, she’s a feast. Harry’s going delirious. 

She’s wearing shorts too, is the thing. Maybe that’s the second thing Harry saw upon being presented by such a beautiful creature right in front of her. They’re short ones, in pale blue denim, rips in the front and one in the back just by the hem and - did she mention they’re short? They’re short. She’s curvy and her movements indicate she’s very well aware of it, how she flaunts them with pride and Harry can almost see _her butt_ through that one tear when she sways with the music, and they’re just- just very short. Short shorts. Things that make Harry lose just the tiniest bit of sanity. _That kind of short._

And like, when Harry’s not just staring at her like a creep, she tries to make good-natured eye contact but it always ends up, like. _Fuck!_ There’s just something so sinful about that kind of natural beauty. Something about those piercing blue eyes that feel absolutely captivating. 

Harry has never been so _offended_.

”Right.” Harry nods, composing herself. They press past a few people and out into the hallway, out where the toilet is. ”Fair enough. So did I. Though I guess, it’s not really happening yet.”

”Why so?” she asks, eyes never leaving her face. If Harry’s never did either she would be walking into so many walls because she’s clumsy, and embarrassing, and she has gazelle limbs in comparison to any normal girl her year, especially in comparison to this amazon warrior (with thick thighs which she wants framing her face with her fogged up glasses).

Harry shrugs, because she doesn’t know. She didn’t have anyone to talk to until this girl came around, though maybe that’s not a thing to share out loud. 

”Didn’t have anyone to talk to until you came around.”

She bites her lip, stains it raspberry red to keep more tipsy nonsense (or more like, absolute awkward honesty) from slipping out and polluting this girl’s beautiful world. 

Harry doesn’t really do well on the whole, socializing thing. She didn’t show up in costume, even, despite this being a Halloween party and all. Just. The cheap little glittery gloria on her headband, bobbing some inch above her hair with the assistance of some wire. Maybe it was faith. Maybe she’s just a proper loser. Louis' costume is much more convincing, anyway.

When the devilish girl grins she bears teeth, and Harry thinks for a heart-palpitating moment she sees fangs. She can’t possibly, but she swears she does, and then it’s vanished. ”And are you having a good time now?” 

It might be the longest conversation she’s had today - before she was peer-pressured to come down here - since Sylvia told her that the book Harry was reading was pretty shit. ”Let’s see, leading a girl to the loo…” She pretends to think. ”Yeah. Top 3 moments. Like, of my life.”

She suddenly has a pale hand extended to her. The fingers are slender and the nails are long and Harry stares at it like she’s never shook someone’s hand before. ”My name is Louis,” she tells her, and she’s soft under Harry’s touch when she’s wiped her palm down her skirt once, twice. Her stare electric as she introduces herself. ”What’s yours?”

”Harry,” Harry chokes out, ”is what my friends call me. Harriet is what my mum calls me, when she’s angry.” 

”And what do I call you?”

Harry chuckles, something breathless. The ethereal beauty speaks like she looks and she’s losing her mind over it a little more by the second. ”What’s the mood?”

Louis seems to consider it, then she tilts her head up. ”Pleased.”

”You can call me whatever you want,” Harry answers, because it was always the answer. They’re still holding hands so she drops it suddenly, scared she overstayed, grossed her out maybe, because Harry’s pretty sure she’s the only girl in this town that also likes girls. 

But Louis takes her hand again, only her other one, the left one with her right. And then they’re really holding hands, and then Harry’s tummy is fluttering and that space between her thighs is throbbing. Then Louis prompts her with a raised brow, and Harry realises she’s still leading her to the loo. 

Right. Attractive. 

Her breathing is kind of high in her chest but she powers through, pulls the girl behind her further through the people as her pulse beats hard in her throat. She feels a strange sense of pride, just getting to walk with such an attractive girl, holding hands with her all publically. But it’s clearly not romantic affection. I mean, what, this is just…

This is just… totally platonic. Girls do this. Louis is probably straight, anyway, because Harry’s small amount of dream girls always are.

They exit the living room and with the bathroom door in front of them, Harry feels the sinking feeling of loss already. She turns around and nearly loses her breath, and step, and mind, totally having forgotten what this girl she’s currently touching and standing way too close to actually looks like. 

She points dumbly behind herself. ”That’s the one.”

Louis doesn’t even look to where she’s pointing. ”That so, Harry?”

Harry will die tonight. ”Um.”

She smirks, and Harry’s legs turn to jelly. It’s not fair, none of this is fair, it must just be a dream she’s bound to wake up embarrassingly horny from to hump the sheets. And to think she wasn’t even going to come to this stupid Halloween party. She could have been sat reading _Giovanni’s Room_. In her room. What even. 

”Then I thank you,” Louis adds in an absolute purr, doing nothing to fix Harry’s jelly legs. She’s a seductress and Harry’s the snake dancing along to the tone of her life. ”And then, is this goodbye?”

Harry blinks. Then she licks her lips. 

She leans in and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek. Just. Just to try. See what will happen. She’s kissed a girl at summer camp before, she even kissed Sylvia a few times when they lived next door to each other (before she went and got a _boyfriend_). She can do this. This is fine. 

Oh my god, this is so not fine. 

She shakily pulls back, so embarrassed she might just be sick. But Louis chases her. She puts her mouth to hers, and suddenly Harry’s hand is on her arm, and she’s kissing the prettiest girl she’s ever seen. 

It feels like a light is turned on brightly inside of her. 

It’s so soft yet fierce and oh no, oh _no_, now she never wants to do anything else in life ever again. Who knew kissing could feel so _good_?

She feels tongue, she feels teeth. She feels her claw-like nails digging into her waist and all she can do is pull her closer by her arm, kiss her back as best as she can as she just tries not to like, _fall over_.

Which is a very hard task, thanks very much. 

Louis pulls back when Harry really feels she really might need a breather, lips sinfully red and wet and _uuugh_. Louis ponders for just a second. ”Do you think you could perhaps show me to a bedroom instead?”

Oh, shit. 

That, she can. 

She can because this is, in fact, Sylvia’s house, which her parents are currently travelled away from, leaving the rooms apart from the lounge, hopefully, all unoccupied. And while it’s maybe morally questionable to use her friend’s bedroom specifically, Harry thinks she can morally slither her way around it (she’s kind of mad about the book thing still, and the, you know, the getting-a-_boyfriend_ thing). 

Harry nods silently and drags Louis with her, leaving the crowd and up the stairs she stumbles, head getting more clouded with each step by some kind of heat or another. She’s right behind her, the thumping music fading away, just background noise as she shuts the door behind them and suddenly they’re alone in a completely pink bedroom. 

”Cute,” Louis comments. 

Harry has _not_ had enough cherry punch for that. ”Sure.”

”Kiss me again.”

Harry spins around from studying the room she’s studied a billion times already and kisses Louis with nothing but relief. Okay, maybe with slight desperation as well, because wow. Wow. She’s a goddess. Harry is kissing a goddess. 

Maybe even a lesbian one, she might add, or at least non-straight. Or she’s experimental. Harry doesn’t mind. She doesn’t _care_ as long as they don’t stop touching. 

It’s clearly not on accident when Harry’s legs suddenly buckle and she’s got Louis pulled on top of her on the bed, moans against each other’s lips over the muffled music downstairs. ”Shit,” she breathes, but clumsiness be damned, that was actually quite smooth. 

Louis must only agree, or so she can hope, because she silences her with a kiss she can feel the smile through. 

The sheets are rough beneath her and Louis is soft on top of her, skin smooth and warm and she doesn’t ever want to let her go. Those nails aren’t quite as smooth though, she might add; sharp where they’re gripping her bare arms and holding her to the mattress. 

When she bites Harry’s lips with particular might, that’s not teeth. 

That’s not teeth. 

That’s _fangs._ That’s the fangs she saw. 

Shit. 

Harry pulls back with a gasp, which is quite hard considering she’s lying down. But Louis pulls back too, startled by the reaction, wide-eyed watching her face. 

Before she has time to freak out, the small horns on Louis’ head fade from her view. Gone like it was nothing but a vision trick. She saw them though. She felt that. 

”What’s going on?” she ends up tentatively asking. 

Harry has _not had enough cherry punch for this_. No but literally, she’s not drunk and seeing things. She’s not hallucinating. That was really all there, until suddenly it wasn’t, and her heart is beating hard in her throat with this complete stranger pressed against her, who apparently occasionally grows features to then have them fade from reality. 

Louis sneers. For some reason, Harry still feels her tummy flutter with infatuation. ”We’re just having some fun?”

”No, like.” Harry licks her lips. She wishes she was still kissing her. She kind of wishes she didn’t just, like, see her momentarily turn into a demon, or something. What a cockblock. Life is kind of weird right now. ”I don’t know. You bit me.”

”Sorry,” Louis breathes through the grin, the charming, perfectly normal-toothed kind. ”Got carried away. You don’t like it?”

”I do, um, not… when you turn into a predator, or something. I mean, listen. Do you have a costume that disappears sometimes?”

Louis just kinda, looks like her. 

Harry narrows her eyes. ”You’re not a vampire, are you?”

That makes her burst out a laugh, burying her face in the crook of Harry’s neck. It kind of makes her want to just wrap her legs around her middle and let her continue by kissing her neck raw. 

”No, Harry,” Louis mumbles, bringing her head back to put them face to face. ”I’m not a vampire. This is not a costume.”

Silence.

”What are you, then?” Harry can’t help but whisper, and she does pull her legs up then to bracket Louis’ perfect hourglass-shape with her knees. Just like, if they do continue, that’s where she’s like for her to stay. 

Louis seems to consider it. She considers it for quite a long and Harry is quite too horny. ”I’m really going to have to tell you, aren’t I?”

”I mean.” Harry bobs her head from side to side a little. ”Would be rude not to, wouldn’t it?”

Louis’ expression is at a blank, pondering, yet Harry still feels the same deep infatuation just watching her, feeling her soft breath on her lips, exactly where her gaze is. They’re also playing _Self Control_ by Laura Branigan downstairs, which is rude when Harry loves that damn song. 

Louis opens her mouth. Hesitates. ”I’m not from what you call the world.”

Harry feels her mood drop only slightly. ”Oh.”

”No,” Louis confirms, sagely. ”I’m from somewhere far away from here. I’m not like you, I don’t live how you label as normal. I’m not human. Neither am I mortal.”

Harry gulps. ”Huh.”

Louis eyes her down, silently. She shrugs. ”That’s it, Harry. I don’t have many more answers for you.”

”Are you drunk?”

Louis’ eyes dart up to pierce into hers. Harry feels like laughing. She doesn’t. 

”You think I’m joking?” Louis questions with a cocked eyebrow, and Harry nods. ”Why?”

”Of course you’re human,” Harry insists, squeezes her plump waist. ”I can touch you. I feel you’re _from this world_. What do you mean, you’re from another town or something?”

Like, jeez. Just tell a girl straight up if you’re not into long-distance. 

Louis breathes out, heavy and slow. ”Well.” She wets her sinful lips. ”Let me prove myself then.” She presses her lips to a tight line. ”Close your eyes for a moment.”

Harry does. The next moment, the weight on her shifts, and she feels Louis kiss her neck. 

She emits a small, soft moan and wraps her arms around her, glad to be back on track. So glad. But something is off. Her skin isn’t soft. The tongue playing with her is sharp. 

The teeth feel like needles. 

Louis pulls back and Harry is faced with just what she saw earlier. A demon-like version of the beautiful girl she knows to be on top of her. 

”You see now?” Louis asks, still the same. Same Louis. But she’s got horns and fangs and, is that? Is that seriously? A _tail?_

Harry opens her mouth. Closes it. Tries again. ”Oh.”

Oh my fucking god, what the fucking fuck?

Harry grips at her skin, the curve of her waist, still a soft handful. Still stunning and on top of her and _an actual demon_. A shapeshifter, and both versions are still beautiful like a crime. 

”Oh,” Harry says again. 

Louis hums, blasé. She’s not even phased. Her tongue is sharp and pointy. ”Now you know.”

Like that’s not… a big deal…

She realises it like clockwork. That’s a succubus. That’s what she is then. She’s hooking up with a _succubus._

A succubus, something from a fantasy book or something, she’d read as a kid, maybe. One touching on vampires and werewolves. Neither which should be real. Neither which should be in a room with her, no less in _Sylvia’s_ she’s just _borrowing for sexy times._ Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? The thing it said in the book? That they’re demons, and like, seduce men, in the night, make them sin. Because they’re irreligious just as much as they’re irresistible. 

Harry can’t quite gather her thoughts. It seems it shouldn’t be real, it can’t be, things like these don’t just happen. If you look human, you are, and nobody is any sort of other species or, no species at all… because what even is a succubus? Where do they come from? This can’t be real. 

But it is, it’s real and it’s happening, so? So, what does she make of this? What _ever_ does she do _now?_

”So like, not human?” Harry starts, faking casualty, but questioning everything, absolutely everything. She can’t believe she hasn’t actually passed out yet. 

”Not quite, no,” Louis replies. ”Half, or so. I’d say half.”

”How do you just say that?” Harry blurts out, scandalised. ”Is that not weird? Does that not sound weird to you?”

Insert a billion more question marks. 

Louis’ face is still just at a blank. ”I was born like this, mind you.”

Wow, so now Harry’s like, racist or something. Like actually xenophobic to another race. Because demons surely must be a different race to humans, right? No? Who knows! What the fudge honestly. 

”And that’s not, you know?” Harry’s hardcore furrowing her brow. ”I mean it doesn’t make... this, weird, does it? It’s not like beastiality or something messed up?”

Louis grins. God Harry loves how that looks on her. ”I’m not an animal species,” she affirms. ”I _look_ pretty human to you, don’t I?”

Harry can only agree. The prettiest pretty-human she’s ever seen, probably. ”And you don’t have those teeth to rip my throat out, do you?”

”No, Harry, I do not.”

”So if you like, you know,” she speaks quickly and muffled, only slightly embarrassed: ”_eatmeout_...” She clears her throat, back to normal voice. ”It won’t be dangerous, will it? Like can I, hypothetically, get an infection? Succubus-cooties?”

Louis sneers again. ”Not that I’m aware of.”

”From just how many years of knowledge?”

”Around 260.”

Harry silently purses her lips. Then she pops them open. ”Alright. Fair. Okay. I’ll take that.”

Louis cocks her head, looks at her expectantly. ”You’ll take it?”

”I’ll take it.” She slides her hands up her back. ”Let’s go. Let’s do it. Do the thing.”

Louis chuckles heartily. ”The _thing?_”

”Well!” Harry blushes a little. ”Yeah! What we were about to do. I consent. I’m ready.”

Louis sits up on top of her. Why does she look so bloody hot with horns on her head? Such divine beauty with a devil’s energy. Harry’s such a sub. 

”You mentioned getting eaten out?” Louis purrs, and Harry literally feels how wet she gets from the words alone. Yep. That’s the one. ”That’s _the thing?_”

Harry pulls on her top (ummm no yeah but her top’s _shirt_ too) to get her down to kiss her again. ”Whatever you want,” she mumbles rather huskily before their lips collide. 

Harry keeps her still with her hands around her back, because goodness gracious, she never wants her to leave. She feels warm despite, you know, everything and all. Real and soft. 

Soft, apart from when sharp nails slide down her body, until they’re cupping around her thigh. 

She gasps and Louis grins. When she kisses her again to silence her, it only makes Harry's moan muffle slightly against her lips, fingers dug into her thighs as Harry's grip on the back of her shirt.

It’s unfortunate she’s such a good kisser, because Harry whines at the loss when she starts scooting down her body instead. She leaves small kisses down her neck; Harry cranes it. She settles between her legs; Harry just keens. 

It’s unfortunate too that she’s not wearing tights, because she can just spreads her legs ever so slightly and instantaneously feels like the biggest slut to ever exist. (It’s a good thing, maybe, because her gloria headband is sort of falling off and anyway it’s risking to seriously mess up her hair, so.) 

It’s unfortunate Louis caresses her skilled hand further up her thigh and slides a finger up her soaked knickers. Because Harry moans and shivers at even this, the tiniest gesture (and jesus fucking christ almighty, this fake angel look is now absolute blasphemy). 

She watches as Louis disappears below her plaid skirt and her head falls back into the pillows when she feels her hot lips touch where she truthfully appears to be dripping wet. She’s so _stupidly_ turned on, it kind of feels too good to be true, to the point she wonders how she’ll even be alive by the end of it if this is just the begging and this is her still with knickers on. 

But off they go. She wiggles them down her slender legs after Louis dips them delicately below her hips which she helps raise from the bed, and they’re left to hang unhelpfully around one of her ankles. And Louis immediately buries her head between her thighs, and Harry sees just feathery hair bob below her skirt when she feels her hot tongue slide up between her _other type of lips_, oh my god. Oh my _god_. 

She grips hard on the sheets, eyes shutting as the warmth overcomes her, the pleasure between her thighs drowning her in waves. 

She’s not even sure if she’s making noise or just trying to breathe. Louis’ tongue is so wet, so warm, going up and down between her folds to slick sounds and distantly she notices her hips rolling slightly into the touch even though her thighs quiver like from exhaustion. Louis’ hands are wrapped around them from the outside, and Harry’s own mouth is a constant o-shape as ragged breaths leave her poor chest. 

Momentarily, she thinks wildly, that Louis’ tongue goes sharp, sure she’s not using fingers. She only bucks her hips into the touch and wishes it never to stop. Anything is Louis. Louis is touching her. This is how she’d preferably spend the rest of her life, bracketing her knees around her perfect face, please, thanks, _please_. 

She’s only distantly aware of it when she’s suddenly whining so loud the music downstairs may not even cover it. Her body twitches rather embarrassingly as the orgasm hits her like an absolute wall of _bricks_. 

Louis just holds her hips down with fingers dug into her skin. 

When Harry’s sure she’s still alive (at least she can hear her pulse slightly in her ears) she looks down with flushed cheeks at Louis’ grin between her thighs. She’s wet down to her chin and it should be illegal. 

”Come back here,” Harry whispers and Louis obediently crawls back up and plants herself on top of her. 

She kisses her, although Harry doesn’t have to start contemplating whether she really wants to taste herself or not, because then Louis grins and puts her head down on her chest instead. She hums quietly, sounding content. A nutritious meal, that was. Yum. 

She’s like a soft little kitten. My god, how is this sweetie so lethal?

Well, in truth, Harry doesn’t really know that she is. Maybe she just assumed. Maybe Louis is just as chaotically gay as she is and as harmless as her with her gloria on. 

Fake one, mind. But, she’s an angel. For sure. Yeah. Totz. 

Even the devil had been an angel once, after all. 

She hears Louis purr slightly, and she looks down at her where she’s resting on her chest. Harry’s pretty much ready to like, ask her to sleep over, confess her love, propose marriage. But Louis’ pupils are narrow. Horns are growing from her scalp. 

Harry sees her gleaming fangs grow out as she licks them with a narrow, snake-like tongue. Her heart starts beating fast, and Louis’ eyes fall on it beating behind her ribcage. Thump, thump, thumping visibly through her thin bralette. 

”What are you-” Harry whispers, but it’s what triggers it. 

Louis’ mouth opens inhumanly wide with a sound like a snarl.

Then her jaw snaps shut, and the sound is nothing short of chopping into squelching meat. 

When her fangs dig deep into her chest with a sudden start of pain, Harry jolts and sits up.

She wakes up in her bed.

And she’s alone. 

She breathes heavily as she calms herself from the bad dream. Or was it a bad dream? What the _fuck?_

She looks around to be sure, beads of sweat down her spine. The room is dim, but it’s morning, she can tell. She rustles her sheets and looks around herself, but no one is there. No gaping hole is oozing blood in her chest. 

She falls back down onto the mattress, breathing out. My god. What the actual _fuck!_

Louis, the women of her dreams, was a figment of her imagination? Seriously? She really _was_ just of her dreams? Too good to be true, huh? Was it? _Honestly?_

But it had all seemed so real, like, she could _touch_ her. She swears she can still _feel_ her in her _hands_.

She rolls over, frustrated, angry, a lot sad and distressed. She doesn’t want to accept this was all there ever was and all there would ever be. She was so happy, so at peace for the first time with someone else in her life. 

She tosses over, and that’s when she hears a crumbling noise under her pillow. 

She lifts her head, surprised, and digs her hand underneath it. Out she pulls a little paper note. It appears to be a page taken from her diary, and when she looks over her shoulder it’s lying open on her desk, the edge of a ripped page poking up. 

She folds it open and reads the most delicate handwriting, seeming like the cursive kind that would exist only centuries ago. 

_”Thank you for your delightful company, Harry_  
_I long to see you in your dreams again_  
_Meet me once more tonight_

_Eternally yours,  
Louis”_

Harry blinks.

She reads it again. And then her stomach does a somersault. 

_Succubus_, echoes her thoughts as she falls back limply onto the bed again, letter clutched to her chest where her heart is beating hard once more. 

_Fucking... succubus._

She'd just have to slap the fuck out of Louis when she'd return tonight. And then, perhaps, kiss her a little extra.

**Author's Note:**

> Succubus! Fucking succubus!
> 
> This has been in the works since summer last year, thinking it could be posted by Halloween, but I just couldn't finish it. I left it with the ending remaining for another year until the Halloween Fic Fest appeared and I thought, yes! A Purpose! Posted a 666 word long ficlet for that, while promising myself I needed to post the long version shortly after, so here we are. 
> 
> The title is from Under The Gun by The Killers paired with the ficlet title of A Little Death by The Neighbourhood. Thank you for reading!


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